


Ghosts of a Different Dream

by qrantaire (rivenjolras)



Series: Fixin' Things [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Addiction, And General Suffering Was Had, Brief Mention of Corpses, First Time, Fucking in Unclean Environments, M/M, Pining, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:50:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivenjolras/pseuds/qrantaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deacon needed the goddamn nicotine. He needed <i>Fixer</i>. And Fixer knew it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts of a Different Dream

**Author's Note:**

> It's not required to read the first installment to understand what's going on (But you should! It's short!). All you need to know is that Deacon is relapsing. It's terrible.

Face-down, biting the inside of his arm as Fixer fucks him open with steady fingers, Deacon wonders how exactly it got to this point. He supposes this was set in motion the second Deacon decided he needed that goddamn cigarette.

He thinks, perhaps, that Fixer only kept that one cigarette on him at all times on fucking purpose. Fixer would stand close enough to Deacon while he smoked so that Deacon could taste it on the air between them. Fixer would stare at him, until Deacon asked. Deacon needed the goddamn nicotine. He needed _Fixer_. And Fixer knew it.

This happened with startling frequency, and desire for that nicotine, for Fixer, built up and coiled within him like some heavy reptilian thing. Fixer knew what he was doing. Past Deacon fell for it like a stone.

Present Deacon both loves and hates every second of this. His teeth leave angry red stinging marks in the soft flesh at the crook of his arm. He’s trying not to whimper. He asked for this, he reminds himself. Deacon’s legs are shaking with the effort to keep his ass in the air while Fixer prepares him, easy-as-you-please.

Fixer has been quiet through most of this encounter. Until now.

“Is this your first time? Like this?” Fixer asks. He sounds amused. Deacon feels like he’s burning.

Deacon unlatches his teeth and replies hoarsely. “Yeah.”

He hears but does not see Fixer smile. “Good.”

_Good_? Deacon wonders. Fixer withdraws his fingers. Here we go.

“Breathe, Deacon.” Fixer reminds him. His hand is at the small of Deacon’s back rubbing in small circles, and it felts oddly romantic- nothing like this is. Just what Deacon wishes it was.

Fixer breaches him and even with preparation, it feels like being impaled. Deacon has been in pain before- but no pain he has ever felt feels quite so intimate. Deacon tries to relax. Fixer bottoms out.

All Deacon can hear are the sounds of his own chest heaving. Fixer is silent and still as stone. Deacon knows that if he asked the man to stop, if he tells him this is too much, he would withdraw in an instant. When Deacon pictured this exact moment, he imagined Fixer’s eyes on his, he imagined being full and feeling chosen, special. Instead, he stares at a stained mattress and feels nothing but rising panic. He counts backwards. _Ten… nine…_ Deacon doesn’t want this to stop. He doesn’t like the alternative. 

Fixer slowly withdraws, then snaps his hips. His fingernails are digging into Deacon’s hips. It doesn’t seem intentional on his part. Deacon cries out, feeling something deep inside him respond. It’s overwhelming. Fixer does it again. Deacon is seeing stars.

Fixer sets a pace that feels more like an assault. Deacon is gasping, and he feels like he’s running a fever. Fixer’s hands have a vice grip on his hips, and they ache. Deacon fears that if Fixer lets go, he will lose grip on reality. Fixer’s hands are real. This is happening. Deacon’s first time being fucked by a man is happening in a place that held fresh corpses just an hour ago. There is no running water in this raider camp- the hands that dragged the legs of a former raider into a bonfire are the same ones holding him here. He doesn’t have it in him to feel sick. He _is_ sick.

Fixer leans in so his chest is pressed to Deacon’s back. His rhythm doesn’t stop as his arm snakes around to take hold of Deacon’s cock. Deacon is gone in a few strokes. He is pretty sure he’s screaming, but he doesn’t hear it.

Fixer pulls out, and Deacon is only dimly aware of Fixer flipping him onto his back. Deacon is floating as Fixer strokes himself over his body. With a groan, Fixer spends over Deacon’s chest and face. Some hits the corner of his mouth, and he licks it off without thinking. It tastes like sin.

Fixer flops heavily onto his back next to him. Deacon peers out of the corner of his eyes, unable to move his head. He just doesn’t have the energy. Fixer looks pleased. _Good_ , Deacon guesses.

Some moments later, Fixer leans over to grab a fresh pack of cigarettes out of his jeans, and lights one with practiced ease. After a puff, he hands it to Deacon wordlessly.

_God_ , Deacon thinks as he brings it to his lips, he hates being an addict.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to deaconvevo, my partner in crime and soundboard for all of my terrible ideas.


End file.
